


The Long Road, the Last Road

by lloydsglasses



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Implied Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Or maybe not read it however you like, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lloydsglasses/pseuds/lloydsglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin dies, and Bilbo gradually makes his way back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Road, the Last Road

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, though I feel it's worth mentioning that some lines are lifted directly from The Hobbit (both the book and the films, because I really wanted to blend book canon and movie canon together!)

“He was–” Bilbo stops, unsure of exactly what Thorin was. “To me, he was–”

His words run out, once again. He looks down, away from the understanding in Balin’s kindly eyes, and takes a deep breath.

“Well, I think I’ll just slip quietly away.”

\--

Bilbo leaves the Lonely Mountain behind in the company of a wizard, a shape-shifter and an elven host. The elves are subdued, but all the same the journey is accompanied by a constant hum of Sindarin chatter, punctuated by bursts of Beorn’s booming songs.

Bilbo rides alongside Gandalf and says very little.

\--

Winter has begun to set in properly by the time they reach the edge of Mirkwood. Bilbo flatly refuses to enter the forest, and pretends not to see Thranduil and Gandalf exchanging a concerned look.

“No matter,” says the wizard, eventually. “Now that Gundabad has emptied, the Northern paths will be safer.”

He and Beorn both declare that they will travel that way too, and Bilbo finds it hard to summon up the energy to be grateful. The three of them part ways with the elves, but not before Thranduil, who has been noticeably kinder since the Battle of the Five Armies – especially to Bilbo – pulls the hobbit aside and addresses him gravely.

“I name you elf-friend and blessed,” he says, quiet and utterly sincere. 

Bilbo thanks him, and spends the rest of the day wondering what Thorin would think of such a title.

\--

A year later, Bilbo will tell the little children of Hobbiton that he had many hardships and adventures as he travelled back along the edge of the forest. In truth the journey is mostly cold and uneventful. Beorn sings loudly and merrily and Gandalf makes regular attempts to coax Bilbo into conversation.

He ignores them both.

The harsh winter winds blow as they pass beneath the shadows of the Ered Mithrim, and Bilbo regrets ever wishing to see the great mountains in the first place.

\--

By mid-winter they have come to Beorn’s house, and Bilbo is distantly grateful for the reprieve from the cruel weather. He thinks he would probably be more grateful if Beorn himself would stop being so cheerful; Bilbo can’t see that they have all that much to be cheerful for just at the moment, and he has become thoroughly sick of the shape-shifter’s endless singing.

It comes to a head a few nights after they have arrived.

“Shut up!” Bilbo shouts, suddenly and vehemently, as Beorn pauses in the middle of eating his meal and begins to sing yet _another_ Yule-tide song.

Beorn and Gandalf stare at him in obvious surprise, and Bilbo suddenly realises that he has leapt to his feat and is breathing heavily. Cheeks colouring with embarrassment, he turns quickly on his heel and strides out of the hall. It is freezing cold outside on the deck but he can’t bear to go back in, so he simply slides down against the wall and wraps his arms around his knees, shivering as he watches snow drop to the earth in think clumps.

After a short time he hears soft footsteps approaching, and a heavy weight settles around his shoulders as Gandalf folds himself down at his side. Looking around, Bilbo sees that the weight is a large fur blanket that the wizard is busy tucking around him, and all of a sudden his throat feels tight. A few months ago, on this very porch, Thorin had done exactly the same thing with his own coat.

Abruptly Bilbo begins to cry, and once he has started he finds that he can’t stop.

He cries for a long, long while, until eventually he thinks he can cry no more. Swallowing thickly, he looks up at Gandalf.

“How am I supposed to bear this?” he asks, desperate and pleading. “How am I supposed to bear this hurt?”

Gandalf smiles sadly at him. “You go on. In sorrow, perhaps. But not in despair.” Bilbo opens his mouth to say that despair is all he has left, that he isn’t sure how to feel anything else anymore but Gandalf talks over him, softly yet firmly. “The world is full of peril, as I think you have come to know now, and there are many dark places and happenings; but still there is much that is fair.”

He presses a gentle hand to Bilbo’s shoulder. “I do not believe Thorin would want you to despair for his sake, nor cover your eyes to the fair things of the world.”

Bilbo swallows again and thinks back to that moment on Ravenhill, when he had cradled a dying king in his arms. He thinks of the way Thorin had smiled as he bade Bilbo return to his books, of the earnestness and fondness behind his words.

Gandalf is right of course, but that does nothing to lessen the hollow feeling that has taken root in Bilbo’s chest.

“I miss him,” he whispers, staring at his knees.

“I know,” says Gandalf, and the hand on his shoulder tightens briefly.

They sit silently together on the porch as the snow falls heavily around them, and eventually Bilbo drifts into sleep.

\--

Beorn sings less after that and Bilbo feels immensely guilty about it. Their host doesn’t seem angry with him though; in fact most evenings he sits beside Bilbo after they have eaten, patiently teaching him how to carve or telling him tales about the life and deeds of the shape-shifters of old. Bilbo is inattentive and distracted at first but in time he comes to like the routine of such things, comes to find the deep tones of Beorn’s voice comforting. They sometimes cook together during the day and Bilbo thinks they must look absurdly mismatched, a tiny hobbit and a giant of a man baking cakes together.

As the cold of winter begins to recede, Beorn takes him out into the garden and they tend to the flowers in silence as Gandalf smokes his pipe on the porch. It is peaceful and reminds Bilbo of mornings in the Shire when his mother and father were still alive.

\--

Once spring has well and truly arrived Bilbo and Gandalf set out towards the Misty Mountains, their packs full with honey, cakes and dried fruits, courtesy of Beorn. As they leave Beorn lifts Bilbo up, pulling him into an exuberant but heartfelt hug and, although Bilbo is choosing to leave, he wraps his arms around Beorn’s neck and clings tightly for a few beats.

They set a leisurely pace, and after a few weeks of riding reach the pass where thirteen dwarves and a hobbit had once been captured by goblins. Looking backward Bilbo sees a white sun shining over the outstretched land and in the distance the Lonely Mountain, yet unmelted snow gleaming pale on its highest peak.

The weight of sadness is heavy upon his shoulders still, but that hollow space inside his chest has receded, and it doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming anymore. Time marches on – as it is wont to do – and Bilbo with it.

“So snow comes after fire, and even dragons have their ending,” he says softly.

He takes one last long look at the Lonely Mountain, wondering if he will ever return, and then turns his back on his adventure.

\--

Elven voices cry out merrily in song as they ride into the valley of Rivendell, though Bilbo determinedly stops listening once he hears them singing about them demise of throne and crown. Lord Elrond welcomes them warmly into his home, and as they eat Gandalf tells the story of their quest, much to the delight of many an eager elf. Bilbo listens only half-heartedly and excuses himself before Gandalf can reach the end of the tale, claiming exhaustion.

He is shown to his room, and once he is alone he lies back on the bed. He wonders how Thorin would have told the story, if he had lived to see the end; and if he would have willingly woven a tale of dwarven valour and heroism to an audience of elves, or if he would have remained silent, keeping the stories of his people close.

He falls asleep to such thoughts, and when he wakes sometime later moonlight is shining in through the open window and he can hear yet more singing from outside. It is rowdy and undignified, and it reminds Bilbo so much of his dwarves that his heart beats in quiet yearning.

Nonetheless he smiles to hear it, thinking back on another rowdy song that he had once heard sung in Rivendell, and snorts at the irony when voices begin loudly shouting the words _Lullaby! Lullaby!_ Rising from bed, he moves to the window and peers out at their grinning faces.

“Well, merry people,” he says, a small smirk on his lips. “What time by the moon is this? Your lullaby would wake a drunken goblin!” He pauses then as they laugh, his amusement making way for a wistful kind of calm.

“Yet I thank you,” Bilbo finishes softly, and means it.

\--

It rains dreadfully as they ride out of Rivendell, yet for all this Bilbo is glad to be returning home to the Shire at last.

“There is a long road yet,” Gandalf reminds him.

“That is true,” Bilbo says. “But it is the last road.”

He looks over at Gandalf to see the wizard smiling gently at him, and though the rain beats down harshly upon his face Bilbo smiles back.

\--

Gandalf leaves him at the borders of the Shire, and while he is sad to see his friend go he is also certain that the wizard will return.

In any case, he becomes entirely distracted from such things once he returns home in the middle of an auction. It takes quite a bit of haggling to convince his neighbours that he isn’t, in fact, dead and in the end he settles for shoving his entire contract into Mister Grubb’s hands.

“Who is this person you pledged your service to?” Mister Grubb asks nosily. “Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo pauses upon his doorstep, looking back at the crowd of hobbits who have now fallen silent. His grief at Thorin’s loss is less all-consuming than it was nine months ago, but that empty space in Bilbo’s chest makes a sudden reappearance when he realises that there probably isn’t a single person in the Shire who has heard of Thorin Oakenshield. 

_So tell them,_ says a voice in Bilbo’s head. _Tell them your stories and remember him with honour._

Bilbo takes a slow breath as a steadying calm washes over him.

“He was my friend,” he says, and steps forward across the threshold to Bag End.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be more angsty than how it turned out but apparently I couldn't bring myself to do that to Bilbo.
> 
> Yes I am still working on my other fics, it's just that RL is really busy and I keep getting stuck.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://lloydsglasses.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
